Why Do I Feel This Way?

Meditations on the passing of my mother

I am not an emotional person, but when
my father died, I got emotional. I blamed it on the syruppy music in
the funeral home. He had been distant for some time, so there was no sense
of personal loss.

Five years later, almost to the day, my mother died. I got emotional
again. She never got close to anybody -- certainly not to her three children
-- so again there was no sense of personal loss. There was no syruppy music,
no funeral home, so I can't blame that. Wherefore, then?

Maybe God puts into us a personal bonding, the way a chick bonds to
the first moving object it sees after hatching, so that even if our emotional
attachment is not reciprocated, we are forever tied. I don't know. All
her life, my sister tried to please her mother; she never succeeded. I
made a heroic effort one Christmas when I was in high school; when it failed,
I just put up a shell and stopped trying.

From my sister Beth I learned that you do the right thing, even if there
is no personal benefit. I tried to do that. Not long after my father died
I invited Mother to come live here in Bolivar. Beth had been watching over
her, but her situation was becoming unstable, so I decided it was my turn.
Mother was near the age when her mother and her mother's father both declined
into dementia. I told Mother that if she wanted to work with me, I would
be better able to provide for her care in a manner agreeable to her; otherwise
I would just do the best I can by guessing. She came, but she did not trust
anybody -- not even me, as she told me before coming. So I did the best
I could, as planned. I have no regrets. The only surprise was how fast
it happened. I was a little conflicted about putting her into a care facility
against her wishes, but not much. She needed somebody to manage her meds
and to make sure she ate right. The doctors said so.

Three weeks ago Mother was on top of the world, trying to manipulate
me into adding a fixture to her room. The next week she was hardly awake.
I was concerned and asked her doc about it. He said ups and downs like
this are normal for a person in her condition, so I gave it no further
thought. Beth decided to come down from Iowa and "cheer her up" -- take
her for a drive, out to lunch, buy her a new suit. We were on the way to
the nursing home when they called and said "Your mother has a fever, so
we are putting her into an ambulance." We turned around and drove to the
hospital. She died in Beth's hands, there in the ER. I broke up. I suppose(d)
it was empathy for Beth.

Beth tells me that Mother worked hard to be the accomplished musician
that her sister was naturally. One of my few childhood memories is of lying
in bed awake, listening to her play hymns on her accordion. Beth and I
each asked for one of those hymns at the memorial service. Becky flew in
from the west coast later than the rest of the family, and Beth um, "persuaded"
her to sing the Spanish hymn (my choice) at the memorial service. Beth
and I were always picking on Becky when we were kids. Becky sang softly
(we cranked the mic up to max in the sound room), but beautifully. I completely
lost it.

Some of the people who came
to the service, I never expected them. I lost it again.

Is this grief over the passing of Mother? Hardly. The hospital room
possibly excepted, my emotions welled up when I thought about me,
when people expressed sympathy for me, or when my
song was sung. My father's funeral was out there in California, in a town
where I don't know anybody except the few family members who came. I had
nothing to contribute, except to help carry the box. My mother's service
was here where I have been going to church for four years and people know
me. My favorite childhood song was sung. The pastor encouraged everybody
in church to come and support me, and many of them did. I think it would
have been easier for me if they'd stayed home.

It's not about me.

It shouldn't even be about my mother.

I'm a nobody, and my mother -- despite her fondest wishes -- was also
a nobody. She once had the ability to inspire people to live God-centered
lives, but these last few years it was all she could do to work through
her extensive prayer list. When we are no longer advancing God's Kingdom,
then God has no reason to keep us here.

I had numerous aphorisms that captured my father's legacy to me, but
only one from my mother:

Find out what God wants you to do, and do it.

When I get my focus off myself and back on what God has for me to do, the
emotional response goes away. This I must do, so help me God.